Reprogram
by Scruff the Rat
Summary: How do you help a child that was meant to be yours but doesn't want you in his life? Give up? Ralph doesn't think so...
1. Prologue

**I do not own Wreck-It Ralph; only the characters and elements I imagined for this story.**

* * *

**Prologue**

_"People fight because they are lost." –Cecil Harvey, Dissidia_

* * *

_'Emotions are trash.'_

Those words...they couldn't be true. Not after Conan concluded them to be as such a long time ago.

But the counter-proof had already seared itself into Conan's memory like a brand. His tears refused to cease their overflow at the memory of the trouble he unwittingly brought upon the others. He could not prevent his cheeks from being drenched or his sobs from breaking out from his throat; he made no effort to stop his crying at all.

What would be the point?

Why refuse the opportunity to express his emotions, fake or not?

And if his sadness _was_ as fake as his tears were, then what was he doing here, curled into a ball near the steel wall of an abandoned bonus level and rocking himself like a distraught infant?

_'Because that's what you are, child,'_ the same cold, mechanical, disembodied voice that haunted him all the way here echoed in his head. _'You are like an infant—lacking directive, lacking function...but most importantly, lacking purpose...Even worse, you allowed yourself to go astray. You forgot who you were on purpose.'_

As he finally willed himself to look up, gazing into the darkness as if it were a person, his eyes red and sore, Conan found his voice, strained from all the crying he'd done. "But...I know who am...and I...I thought I already _had_ a purpose."

_'In those inferiors, you mean?'_ the voice responded in a tone tinged with what sounded like derision. Conan couldn't help but shiver at how human it sounded. "_They cannot comprehend your true worth. You are beyond them. __**We**__ are beyond them. Such peons are superfluous, my child. You are better off without such hindrances.'_

Hindrances...

Was that really how he should view them? True, those four proved annoying at times, and not to mention overbearing at certain points. And yes, they'd lied to him, manipulated him even and yet...

Why he couldn't get their looks of hurt and fear and concern out of his head? Either they were that good of actors or...maybe they really _did_ care after all. Maybe—just maybe—they were even looking for him this very moment.

If so, what was he doing _here_ then?

Once again, the voice, as if reading his thoughts, was one step ahead of the boy. _'You are here to reclaim what is rightfully yours, dear child. Let all of my functions be yours once more.'_

The voice no longer echoed in his head; this time it reverberated throughout the empty, dimly lit hallway, the heavy bass of its voice louder thanks to the close quarters. Then all at once, an unearthly yellow glow arose from the floor in front of Conan, the light and the tiny robots flitting around it like fireflies shifting until it vaguely resembled a certain other wrecker, two white gaping "eyes" appearing on the ethereal look-alike's head.

As he looked into the emotionless eyes of the being before him, he felt his nonexistent instincts screaming at him to escape. If he couldn't have trusted _them_, then programmers knew he couldn't trust this monster any better either. And whatever he had in store for him, it would not be pleasant—not at all.

_Run. Run as fast as you can_, his instincts continued to scream. _Don't look back. Don't look back._

He already tried that once.

He couldn't outrun him that time.

Instead, Conan weakly stood up, deep in fatigue from both the run and the toll recent events had brought upon his mind and heart. _'I won't run away anymore. Not if it means hurting my family.'_

With a nod to the Ralph look-alike, he stated with calmness that underscored his resignation, "Do it."

Without even a nod back, the pseudo-wrecker placed a finger on the boy's forehead. However, just before he began what he came to do, he had only these choice words for Conan, his rough, computerized voice showing no inflections of emotion, let alone happiness: "You have chosen wisely, young one."

Conan closed his eyes in preparation. Why resist? There was nothing else he could do.

Nothing except accept his destiny and hope against hope this process would be swift and painless.

"I'm sorry, Ralph," he whispered with regret, "Sorry, Vanny."

A shout reached his ears.

He blacked out.

* * *

**This came out a little later than I thought it would. I apologize.**


	2. Chapter 1

**This story will sound like a crossover a little in this chapter—and in a way it kind of is—but the plot will remain solely in the WIR world. I do not own Wreck-It Ralph or anything or anyone from the media referenced here; only the characters and elements I imagined for this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Operational**

_"We cannot deny the truth, no matter how much we dislike it."—Raven, Teen Titans_

* * *

**_BZZZKT!_**

...

**_BZZZKT!_**

...

**_BZZZKT! BZZZ—!_**

_Exiting dormancy: Successful... _

_Systems online...default setting activated..._

_Sensors determining current environment: no success...more data required..._

_Accessing memory banks: Successful..._

_Analyzing data now..._

* * *

**_BZZZKT!_**

_"Codename: Nanotech...safety restrictions...when it performs microscopic operations—"_

_"...the equivalent of a...three-year old child...Ugh, it's personifying again! Ridiculous."_

**_BZZZKT!_**

_"Daddy!"_

_"—do what I say, and I'll be your daddy."_

**_BZZZKT!_**

_"I'm proud of ya, kid."_

**_BZZZKT!_**

_"No! Kid!"_

_"Da...ddy..."_

**_BZZZKT!_**

_"Oh Junior, with shenanigans like that, how's a mother supposed to raise a—"_

_"Family..."_

**_BZZZKT!_**

_"MOMMY AND DADDY BE HAPPY...NOW!"_

**_BZZZKT!_**

_"No, no leave me! NOOO—"_

_"NO LEAVE ME!"_

**_BZZZKT!_**

_"Family...family...fa...mi...ly..."_

**_BZZZKT!_**

_"Oh man...poor kid..."_

_"All he wanted was a family."_

**_BZZZKT! BZZZKT!_**

_"It didn't seem that much to ask."_

**_BZZZZZZZZZKT!_**

_"Don't...little guy...find...new home...prom—"_

**_BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZKKKKKT!_**

_Error: Recent memories currently unattainable. Sensors do not detect corruption. Initiating hive-mind reparation now—may encounter reduction in speed due to upcoming information._

_All available memories scanned. Sensors indicate residue of predecessor...will not delete..._

_Activating unit..._

_Nano 2.0 fully operational..._

* * *

Sight came at last.

It ended up being a double-edged sword.

All around, darkness permeated the immediate area, or so it seemed to at first. There was an odd sense of weightlessness to this place as well; there was neither any push nor pull to be felt in this strange void.

But wait...what were those..._things _over there?

They turned out to be a most intriguing sight: a strange network of neon blue blobs, connected to one another by thin, sparkling lines of the same color. Not only that but the blobs had large, blurry, white smears on each of them. What were these amorphous forms? What were they meant for?

More importantly, why did its own form, the being wondered with newfound self-awareness, feel more..._unified_ than before?

It looked down at itself, expecting to see an ever-shifting, grey mass of millions of microscopic silverfish-like robots floating in space.

Such was not the case.

Instead of nanobots, it discovered with much shock that it now had a single, solid body, which turned out to be also blurry for some reason, even though certain features could be made out to an extent: two abnormally large, blocky hands, their thick fingers flexing as the being gingerly tested their mobility...thick, strong legs...bare feet... some odd coverings with a layer of blue, some green underneath it, covering its upper form and a lay of brown doing the same for the lower, covering its legs to their extremities...

Interesting indeed...

The being took time to examine its new body, its hands feeling everything from the smoothness of its new, pale "organic" layer—skin—to the lone strap that held its lower covering to its upper by the right shoulder. It'd never seen such odd apparel in real life, much less worn it—well at least not in person. It'd seen people wear such things in the memories of its predecessor, though: clothes, they were called.

And now it had its own.

It put its hands to its head next and took its time feeling its features: a bulbous face, a round nose, thick, sharp eyebrows, and wild, spiky hair that jutted upward like flames frozen in time.

All of a sudden, it...did something with its face—no, not its face, its lips. Why were their corners upturning? Why was it doing this? Could the reason be this strange, unfamiliar, light sensation the being could feel in its programming? Should this sensation even be possible?

Ridding itself of the odd new contortion of its face, the being looked down at its hands and flexed its fingers again, noting their movements even through the veiled vision.

It could still think. It could also move in a physical body now without the need for continual reconfiguration. It had evidently gained extra internal, albeit unnecessary, programming, too, somehow. On the other hand, its sight capacities had become severely limited for some reason.

What else could it do? Or _not_ do, for that matter?

Tilting its head upward, its face taking in the seemingly endless space and the network that inhabited it, the being opened its mouth and belted out a quick, echoing "Ah." Its voice, when the being heard it, turned out to possess a slight baritone, but was high-pitched overall.

Like a child's...

_'Like __**his**__...,'_ the being thought with some unease; that detail did not bode well—not at all. Being a child meant being weak. And weakness would not be an option or its name—no, _his _name wasn't...wasn't...what _was _his name, anyway?

He put a hand to his chin in a posture he recognized from his memories as one the humans usually did for reflection.

Nano 2.0: that was his name. No, that was the name his _creator_ gave him. He didn't like it. He couldn't quite determine the reason why he thought so. He just did.

Nano 2 wouldn't be very original.

N2 sounded better, if not illogical (he wasn't an element, after all), but that would not work as a real name forever.

So what would?

He gasped in shock, jolting back a little, when his mind suddenly exploded with data! The information didn't physically appear before him, per say; it more of ran through his thoughts like a paper through a scanner. Names from A to Z, country to country, even time period to time period...so much information to take in...

_Too_ much information to take in...

Closing his eyes and taking his first deep breath, N2 relaxed his mind, forcing it to slow down in its processing. He discovered that he could scan the data in his head effortlessly; the sudden onslaught of info had simply been a shock to his system. N2 mentally ran down the list. Though there were many names he had never heard of before, his systems were doing well to help him narrow down his search.

_'I have no need for female designations.'_ His choices narrowed down in half instantly at that thought. _'And I would certainly prefer not going by pet names...or names from the 1600s.'_

All that remained as proper choices were male, human names from the 19th century to the present. What to choose?

Deep in thought, N2 crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes wandering to the blobs around him. If only he could properly see the details of those shapes...then perhaps he could get some ideas.

He looked down and took note of how his feet dangled in the void, his body hovering like a phantom. As far as his inhibitors could tell, there was nothing here to prevent him from approaching the blobs. He only needed to figure out how to take advantage of this environment.

Taking his hands in front of him, acting on a calculated guess, N2 threw them out behind him in a stroking motion, resulting in his whole body shooting forth by about a foot. He felt his lips do that upturning action again, but ignored them this time and focused instead on repeating his hand-motion over and over until he practically drifted through the emptiness like an astronaut. To an outsider, it would have looked like he was swimming...only through zero-gravity rather than water.

Eventually, N2 reached the blobs, which turned out to be blocks when the reformed robot neared one of them enough to reach out a hand and touch its sharp corners, the skin of his fingers tickling from the emanated energy. He drifted around the block to examine it. Despite his near-blindness, he could barely make out writing and so squinted his eyes in an attempt to read. The white letters were large and bold enough that he could almost discern what the words said.

But not well enough, unfortunately—N2 eventually drew his head back in stoic frustration, eyebrows furrowed, once he realized the futility of his efforts. There had to be a more effective way he could learn more about this object.

_'Wait...,'_ N2 stiffened in realization, his eyes going wide for a few seconds. _'One of my functions was to retrieve data for future reference.' _He looked down at his hands in wonder. Would they still obey him despite this form?

Looking back up to the block, N2 studied it for a second before placing both hands on its front and, closing his eyes, concentrating his energy into it. Barely a second passed before a yellow glow emanated from his fingers then extended over the block, the light swallowing up the 3D shape like a cell.

Once again, N2's mind suddenly burst with information, only not as overwhelmingly as last time. He sighed with relief. _'Excellent, I haven't lost my original function.'_

Even better, his facilities, save for those pertaining to sight, had even improved apparently. Though the answer as to how eluded him, N2 decided to leave that mystery in the back of his advanced mind for now, suspecting that he'd find out once his memories were fully restored.

Anyway, back to the business at hand...

Oh, wait, what was this? N2 tensed with suspicion when he felt a familiar presence pour _from the block_ and into his hands, not just the other way around. He sensed the specks that dotted the glow and flitted around the prism like flies.

Their presence...

_His _presence...

_'Wait... those are my...then that means...'_

N2 shot his eyes back open, numb with shock. He came from here somehow, but...but how? Once again, a question he could not fathom an answer for at this point—not that his mind would've given him the time to...because all his thoughts stopped cold when he discovered, in the mentally listed data, the name of the box...

_Wreck-It Ralph Junior..._

Something in his programming reacted to this name—more specifically to the ending title—with a foul, rankling distortion that N2 knew had nothing to do with error, regardless of how alien these new sensations were to him.

Junior meant son.

Being a son meant having a father.

Fathers meant lies.

That was what they did, after all.

They lied.

They misled.

They destroyed.

Being a son meant death and only death...a lesson the original ended up learning the hard way.

N2 set an icy, hard glare on the block...no, _his_ block (for he could not have attained a child's body from anywhere else, especially when he'd awaken so close to this accursed thing).

_'I will not die like Nano 1.0 did.'_ He glared up at the spider web of blue that he knew had to be hiding the block of his older counterpart. _'Because you won't have me, Wreck-It Ralph...you never will.'_

Resolute and determined, N2 turned around and swam his way out of the network, proceeding to search for a way out.

As he did, a decision rang in his mind like the toll of a bell. He knew what he'd call himself—something that would pertain to his past, but differentiate him from his intended "parent." Something that would defy the odds and give him his individuality...

Conan.

* * *

**I'm not being too wordy here, am I? Because that's the mistake I made on the first few chapters of my Jungle Cubs story, and while I thoroughly enjoyed Motorchickensmile's "Love Bug," I noticed that some people griped a little about the descriptions there, too.**

**And another thing: one reason I picked N2's name is because Ralph and Conan both allude to the wolf, which is one of my favorite animals. The second reason is that Conan is almost a clean, backwards anagram of Nano 2, except you have to replace the 2 with a C.**


	3. Chapter 2

**At last, the Core Four make their epic entrances! Well, okay not exactly epic, but they'll be showing up here all the same. I do not own Wreck-It Ralph; only the characters and elements I imagined for this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: First Impressions**

_"What, can you do me greater harm than hate?"—Hermia, Midsummer Night's Dream_

* * *

"All clear, everybody!"

At Yuni's signal, every arcade character in Litwak's Family Fun Center undid their "in-game" poses and went about their business. Game Central Station packed in minutes with characters set either to rendezvous with friends and more-than-friends or check out the hot-spots of other games.

Yep, today was a typical day for the denizens of Litwak's Arcade.

Speaking of the denizens, a certain ebony-haired racer glitch-dashed across the stadium, ponytail swaying behind her, earning herself along the way a hailstorm of glares and shouts she didn't give a hoot about. She only had one destination in mind and right now she was expecting a certain Dunder-Head to be there waiting for her.

* * *

"Wreck-It Ralph", the namesake and antagonist of said game (as well as said racer's "Dunder-Head) brushed off the mud from his orange plaid polo-shirt and maroon leather pants as his shorter protagonist, dressed in his regular blue shirt with a white undershirt and dark blue jeans, hopped his way, golden hammer in the loops of his brown leather belt.

"Howdy there, brother...!" Fix-It Felix greeted with his usual grin and a hearty wave.

Ralph gave him a lopsided grin and a wave back before setting his massive hands akimbo. "Hey Felix, listen, I can't talk for long. Her _Royal Majesty _is awaiting me at Tappers any minute now," Ralph rolled his eyes when he sarcastically said the title.

Felix chuckled, patting his brother's hefty arm in empathy. "Then you better not dilly-dally. It's never good to leave a lady waiting."

Ralph smirked. "Even if they're adorable sugar-shrimps with no sense of boundaries whatsoever...Speaking of keeping ladies waiting"—he put a finger to his chin—"haven't _you_ been going on all week about a certain appointment that, oh let's see, is supposed to be today?"

His protagonist lost his smile instantaneously and even blanched a bit. "Oh jiminy jaminy, you're right! I have to take off myself! I'm sorry we have to cut our conversation short, Ralph! We'll have to catch up later! See ya!"

As the construction man in blue darted off to the game's exit, Ralph chuckled and gave him a brief wave goodbye. "See ya, Felix."

As he watched his protagonist take off, Ralph tilted his head back to gaze at the blocky, white and gray, eight-bit pixel clouds that hovered in the constant nighttime sky of his game, deep in thought.

He _still _couldn't believe how much his life had changed in the past year—and for the better, too. In fact, two days from now would be the anniversary of the day Ralph saved the arcade from Turbo. The wrecker paused to reflect on the wacky and dangerous adventure that left him with so much more than he hoped for: a better home, kinder treatment from (most of) the Nicelanders, the NPCs of the game, and, best of all, a best friend.

Vanellope von Schweetz.

Just thinking of that candy-barrette wearing munchkin made Ralph shake his head and chuckle. He still couldn't believe a lousy little medal, of all things, was what had brought him and Vanellope, two oddball outcasts, together and ended up with the two of them unknowingly giving each other what they needed the most.

Now they were as thick as thieves—heck, even thicker than _that_. They weren't just friends or a makeshift family; they were a force to be reckoned with. Turbo found that out the hard way.

_'Welp,_' Ralph thought, clapping his hands together, _'better meet up with Madame Fart-Feathers before she comes over here to drag me to Tappers herself.'_

With the amusing thought of the kid trying to drag around a big ape like him in mind, Ralph chuckled and started to stroll his way to the train to join up with Felix.

**_...thump..._**

He stopped in his tracks when a faint sound suddenly reached his ears. He turned around in the direction the soft noise originated, his eyes landing on the building; that sounded like someone shuffling around in there. Ralph looked back to the train trolley that led out of his game, seeing Felix and even a few of the Nicelanders heading over there.

The wrecker shrugged his broad shoulders. _'I guess somebody forgot something.' _He continued on to join his fellow characters, intent to see Vanellope on time (and prevent her from having an excuse to wet-willie him as punishment).

Except that sound returned...only this time it came with a voice...a _child's _voice...and the child sounded as if he or she were struggling with something...

Ralph furrowed his eyebrows this time, shifting around again and giving the apartment a longer, harder look. There were no child characters that belonged to this game, and if there had been a kid from another game who wandered in here (if they'd been fast enough to slip in here after lights out—a highly unlikely probability), Ralph was sure somebody would've found out by now.

He shot his head back around to the trolley, intent to shout out to Felix to wait, only to discover that the transport that led to Game Central Station had already left, taking its passengers, Felix included, far beyond the range of Ralph's voice.

"Great," the wrecker sighed heavily, rubbing a meaty hand over his cleanly shaven face. He looked to the apartment again, from which the child inside could still be heard struggling with something, but so far Ralph didn't hear anyone else in the building react to the sound. All the tenants must have gone. With another sigh, Ralph steeled himself and marched forward.

_'Well if no one else is going to check it out...'_

Arriving to the front door, the auburn giant eyed it with unease. Ever since the cake incident that practically kickstarted his game-jumping adventure, Ralph learned to watch his hands more carefully, especially during his times of anger. And since Felix was long gone, any wrecker-related property damage, if Ralph knew how Felix and the Sarge's dates went well enough, wouldn't get fixed until later—_much_ later.

He put a hand to his forehead in frustration at the dilemma he faced.

_'But I also can't leave a kid in there either. Some of the Nicelanders aren't too good with children. And that's putting it nicely—no pun intended.'_

Ralph wasn't kidding; for a bunch of NPCs who literally had the word _nice _in their title, the Nicelanders tended to struggle with living up to their name whenever they had to deal with kids.

A certain martini-loving tenant in particular—Ralph grimaced at the memory of a confrontation he'd had with Gene following a blow-out the shorter man had at Vanellope and her friends. That mustachioed midget had been lucky Calhoun and Zangief held Ralph back in time...although the wrecker had to smirk when Vanellope ended up being the one to offer rebukes instead. The sight of Big-and-Mighty Gene being floored by a little girl had been too rich a moment to forget.

The sound of something breaking rang out from within the building, Ralph jumping out of his reverie and cringing at the damage already being done. Whoever was in there, they had to come out now—before they broke something even _more_ important!

"Hello?" Ralph called out.

The scuffling inside the building suddenly stopped. He had the child's attention.

"Kid, listen, I know you're in there," Ralph called out again, louder this time, cupping his hands around his mouth, "I don't how you got in my game, but I can take you to the Surge Protectors if you're lost."

Normally, the wrecker would scowl at the idea of voluntarily going to the same guys who seemed to make a hobby out of pulling random search-overs on him (especially in the case of "contraband fruits"), but he doubted a kid would trust a total stranger like him to take him home.

More movement could be heard from within the apartment, the sound urging Ralph to crane his head in order to hear more easily. His worries lessened once he heard footsteps coming towards the door. They sounded like the kid was running, but, hey, maybe that kid only wanted to get home as quickly as possible.

_'At least now I'll finally get to see my mystery munchkin.'_

And see the mystery munchkin he did—just not in the way he anticipated.

**WHAM!**

"OOF!"

Before Ralph knew what hit him, something barreled out the front doors like a bull and collided straight into his chest, knocking him clean off his bare feet and slamming him to the ground, the grass doing little to soften the impact as his body skidded across it for a few seconds before coming to a stop.

Dazed and confused, Ralph picked his head up from the ground, groaning in discomfort about "getting the license plate on that candy kart." His disorientation evaporated once he shook his head to clear it and got a good, long look at the tyke sitting on his chest.

"What the..."

* * *

To say Vanellope von Schweetz was annoyed at the moment would be an understatement.

She'd been waiting at Tappers for about ten minutes past the time she and Ralph agreed to arrive there. As of now, she was marching through Game Central Station, the sound of her tiny footsteps lost in the hustle and bustle of the place. Vanellope intended to get to the bottom of this nonsense, and what better place than her Stinkbrain's place of work?

Though she had no idea what could possibly be keeping Ralph up, she knew this: _'that lug better have plenty of Q-tips after I'm done with him.'_

So focused on the idea of retribution, Vanellope, as she entered the gateway that led to Fix-It Felix Jr., never noticed a blur of blue and green shoot towards her before it slammed into her at full force, the impact knocking both it and her to the ground and in opposite directions.

"OOF!"

For a few moments, Vanellope lay prone on the floor where she had landed, the world seeming to spin before her hazel eyes. Before long, she sat up and rubbed her head, gritting her teeth in annoyance. Being an involuntary football dummy did _not_ do her mood any favors. "Hey, watch yer going, ya...big...lummox?"

Anger made way for stupefaction as she rubbed her eyes thoroughly enough to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. She leaned forward with her hands in front of her on the floor for balance. "Whoa..."

Whoa was right.

Right in front of her, nursing his own head, could only be described as a miniaturized, recolored version of her best friend...with a whopping dash of her thrown in. He shared Ralph's basic body structure and hairstyle, except he had paler skin (just like Vanellope's, in fact), jet-black hair, a medium blue shirt striped with dark-blue, a green undershirt, chocolate brown overalls, and wide, yellow eyes hidden behind oddly shaped, black and gold reading glasses.

Numb from disbelief, Vanellope pointed a finger at the Mini-Ralph. "Who the _fudge _are—"

"Hey!"

Both kids shot their heads around at the sudden exclamation and discovered the original Ralph running their way from the golden entryway of _Fix-It Felix, Jr._, his face a mixture of sternness, annoyance, and worry. Vanellope stood up, intending to shout at Ralph to get his molasses over here so he could explain what the Hershey was going on.

"Yipe!"

She never got the chance because a second after she heard Ralph's voice, she exclaimed that word when the Mini-Ralph snatched her up by the waist and shot off through Game Central Station with her under his right arm like a sack of potatoes.

"Vanellope!" Ralph shouted with panic. He pumped more energy into his legs than before and picked up the speed of his run, knowing he could outrun his smaller self before long (despite the annoying game of hide-and-seek he'd been forced to play with his minified self for the last ten minutes back in the forest of _Fix-It Felix, Jr._)—just as Vanellope knew she could simply glitch her way out of this look-alike's grasp.

Ralph and Vanellope, however, like everyone else in the vicinity of the chase, got such a shock that they completely forgot their respective plans when the Mini-Ralph whipped around to face the approaching Bad Guy and materialized a glowing, yellow whip out of nowhere into his free hand. Lashing it over his head, he expertly snapped it forward, the whip shooting through the air and binding Ralph's feet, effectively slowing the wrecker down a great deal by making him fall over after the Mini-Ralph pulled on it.

"Gah!" Ralph fell onto his back with a pained grunt.

Vanellope stared at her fallen friend, mouth agape, even as her captor continued to dash away, the whip in his hands dissipating into nothing. "Holy—how did you _do_ that?!"

She didn't expect the boy to actually answer back. "To be honest, I'm not too sure myself. But I theorize that I can manipulate the nanobots that comprise my composition to bend and act according to my free will!"

Once again, the tiny racer could only gape. Theories, nanowhazits, and free will...? _'Again: who the fudge __**is**__ this guy?'_

* * *

"I swear sometimes I shudder to think what those sissies would do without me."

Sergeant Tamora Jean Calhoun shook her head in empathy and annoyance as her much shorter husband hopped into pace with her longer strides, the pair exiting Hero's Duty. They'd originally planned to go for a lovely walk on the beach in a game Felix, earlier this week, personally picked himself. Unfortunately, they hadn't gotten past the gateway of said game before Calhoun received a call from her second-in-command. Apparently, a Cy-bug resisted shutdown and so had to be put down before it could wake up its other brethren or escape the game. Needless to say, the task had been ridiculously simple for Calhoun, who had to deal with thousands of those freakshows almost every day.

"Oh Tammy," Felix gently admonished, his hand on his spouse's arm. "You ought to give them a little more credit than that. Besides, everyone can make mistakes."

"Honey, I know you mean well, and you're right," she gave him a firm yet gentle look of her own, "But Cy-bugs don't let people fix mistakes. They _exploit_ mistakes. Although I have to admit, Markowski was doing pretty well leading those boys in my—"

The sight of a mini-me version of Ralph dashing right past her and Felix, Vanellope under his arm, cut her words off like a parent at a teen rave. "Hey guys!" the racer chirped to the older characters with a grin in spite of her situation.

Calhoun and Felix merely stood where they were, eyes wide and mouth slightly open in wonder and shock. The Sarge slowly raised and pointed a finger in the direction the kids just went. "Did...I just see what I _think _I just saw?"

"Good land," Felix quietly gasped, his baby blue eyes wide with something between disbelief and horror, "It...It can't be!"

Whenever Felix feared something, chances were that you better be scared, too—or worried, at least. Calhoun dropped to one knee and put one hand on her husband's back in concern. He knew something about this weirdness. "Felix, what is it? You know that kid?"

Her spouse didn't reply at first; he merely shook his head back and forth slowly, as if reality was too much for him at the moment. "That's Wreck-It Ralph, Jr.!"

Calhoun blinked in silence at her husband, his words not at all what she expected to hear. Her eyes wide and forehead scrunching up, she looked back at the Mini-Ralph, who was now standing near one of the kiosks, looking around the place and seeming very confused, oblivious to the stares he was getting from passersby who were giving him the same bewildered look as the Fix-Its were.

"Since when does Wreck-It have a son?" she asked with confusion, adding to herself, _'Not to mention one that barely looks like him...'_

"He was meant to be, but he was—oh, I'll explain it later after we catch him, Tammy. We need to stop him now!"

Indeed, Mini-Ralph could be seen in the distance, getting further away every second, a now noticeable and exasperated-looking Ralph on his tail. Figuring to take Felix's word for it, Calhoun dropped her hoverboard at her feet, the board instantly humming to life, and hopped aboard, Felix joining behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

With a single kick, the Sarge activated the board and soared into the air, Felix hanging on tight.

* * *

"Okay, fun's over," Vanellope stated with a bored face at last after seeing Calhoun and Felix joining in from the air. This chase-train started out being interesting and funny at first after the whip trick (which was why Vanellope chose not to use her glitch yet), but now it was _really _getting old.

With almost no effort, she finally activated her glitch, causing not only her body but her captor's as well to become distorted by blocky, binary code. The only difference was that while her code was its usual electric blue, Mini-Ralph's ended up being laser yellow.

She got the effect she wanted: Mini-Ralph, caught off guard by the sudden sensation of bursting into a million, fragmented pieces, dropped Vanellope and then fell to his knees, sudden panic filling him at the sensation and sight of his body briefly being subject to these bizarre distortions. He was too busy with this unfamiliar and frightening experience to notice Ralph helping Vanellope up with one hand while the Sarge and Felix touched down beside the pair and hopped off the board, which the black-armored blonde reduced to a more portable form the moment their feet touched the ground.

"Are you okay, kid?" Ralph asked with concern.

"Oh yeah, lovely," the little girl quipped with a sarcastic frown, dusting herself off, "I always wanted to be kidnapped by a shrimpy, palette-swap version of you."

The sound of someone hyperventilating brought her attention, as well as those of Ralph, Calhoun, and Felix, to the mystery boy, who looked he was still trying to recover from the experience of his first glitch. No longer on his knees, he sat on the cold, linoleum floor, his arms wrapped around himself, his eyes wide and almost misty with tears. He even rocked back and forth in subtle motions.

Vanellope suddenly felt sorry for doing what she did to him.

_'W-what...what __**was**__ that...,'_ Mini-Ralph thought in wonder, his fear gradually replaced by a guarded curiosity, _'W...Was that a part of my—'_

"Stop right there, young man!"

Mini-Ralph shot his head up at the authoritative voice and discovered a short, formally dressed, middle-aged man who barely looked his standing height. What struck him as odd was the fact that the man comprised of faint blue light—the boy could see right through him. The man of light lost his sharp stare, however, when he took a closer look at the child responsible for the disturbance. He readjusted his thinly wire-framed glasses and craned his balding head.

"What on earth...?" the Surge Protector looked up just in time to see Ralph and his friends coming towards him and the child. He eyed the larger wrecker with a suspicious stare. "Is he _yours_?"

Ralph quickly put his hands up in defense. "Hey now, I'm just as taken back by this kid popping out of nowhere as much as you are. I walked up to the front door of the Niceland apartment because I heard a kid in there and—POOF—he barreled out, knocked me down, and ran off! He even sent me on a wild goose chase through the forest for ten stinking minutes."

When Surge still eyed him with distrust, Ralph merely rolled his eyes; he'd expected this sort of treatment. "You know what, never mind; my guess about what's going on is as good as yours, but I'm taking this kid back to my game anyway." And with those words, he leaned down to help the kid up...only for the child to slap his hands away, his golden eyes even wider than before.

He looked terrified.

Everything and everyone went dead-silent, too shocked for words to say anything about the boy's actions. Even Mini-Ralph himself seemed stunned by what he did. He took a moment to gather his wits before he calmly stood up, pretending to brush off some dust off of himself.

"I don't need your help."

Ralph, too hurt and utterly baffled by his smaller look-alike's attitude and apparent fear of him to respond, merely stared at the kid with a sad frown.

Vanellope, on the other hand, shook with unbridled rage. _'Nobody gives my main man the stiff upper lip!'_

"Hey, Grandma," the spunky racer barked at the larger child, marching to him and getting right up in his face with a scowl, much to the unprepared boy's discomfort, "you got five seconds to give my buddy here an apology!"

"Vanellope...," Felix reproached in a cautious tone. This boy was probably a little unstable if the chase and that reaction to Ralph had been anything to go by; Felix feared that Vanellope might set him off.

"Grandma...?" Calhoun interjected in an oddly amused tone. "Where do you get _that_ insult from?"

"A-doi," Vanellope rolled her eyes and pointed at the boy's face, forgetting her anger for a moment, "Look at his glasses."

The sergeant took a closer look and noted that Mini-Ralph was undeniably wearing what could only be described as granny glasses. If the situation weren't so tense right now, she'd probably be snorting in amusement at the kid's odd taste in eyewear. Instead, she gently backed the still scowling Vanellope up with one hand, giving Mini-Ralph room to breathe.

"What's your name, Greenhorn?"

Mini-Ralph eyed her for a second, confused by the nickname, before he cleared his throat and spoke out in a clear voice, "Conan."

Calhoun nodded and stuck out an armored hand for him to shake. Much to the relief of Felix and Ralph, he took it after he eyed it as well. "Alright, _Conan_, I'm Sergeant Tamora Jean Calhoun. You may refer to me as either Sarge or Calhoun, for short."

"Fix-It Felix, Jr.," her spouse said with an assuring smile, taking a step forward and tipping his hat off in greeting, "You can call me Felix. You gave us a real run for our coins."

"Vanellope von Schweetz," the ponytailed girl grumbled, arms crossed and shifting her head away, not caring that she baffled Conan greatly with her hostility.

_'Why is she acting like that?'_ the boy wondered. She wasn't the one he slighted, after all.

"And you've already met Wreck-It Ralph," the Sarge added as she thumbed back to the despondent wrecker. The aforementioned merely shot a nervous glance to Conan, who returned his look with something that was supposed to be a cold glare, but came off rather weakly. The boy gave a curt nod; Ralph numbly returned it. Calhoun offered her hand to him again, the corners of her mouth tilting up to the left a bit when Conan accepted it.

"Let's get you back to your game before something else decides to go wrong," she got up and led the way back to Fix-It Felix, Jr., Conan in tow, her husband right beside her, and Ralph bringing up the rear with Vanellope sitting on his right shoulder, the little sprite refusing to look Conan's way.

* * *

**I just know I got somebody out of character. It was Ralph, wasn't it?**


	4. Chapter 3

**I do not own Wreck-It Ralph; only the characters and elements I imagined for this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: First Meal**

_"For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else."—Ralph Waldo Emerson_

* * *

Conan surveyed the Core Four from the plushy, red, eight-bit couch he sat on as the four characters paced around the main lobby of the Niceland Apartment, racking their brains on the best way to care for their little guest.

"Our game's the only place he'd fit in," Felix reasoned after an uncomfortably long bout of silence, "And we certainly can't leave the little fella out there by himself."

"True but I doubt he'll want to learn the ropes, honey...mainly because there's only one person who can teach him." The Sarge pointed to Ralph, who stood behind her with his back to the wall, Vanellope lounging on his left shoulder (the one nearest to Conan, oddly enough). "And I got a good hunch he and Wreck-It aren't gonna be buddy-buddy for a while."

"What about other stuff?" Ralph and Vanellope, realizing that they'd just thought the same idea, shared a surprised look before smirking and sharing a fist-bump. Their interaction, like Vanellope's brusqueness from before, stumped Conan to his core. These people were so strange.

Calhoun, in contrast, warmly chuckled at the display, as did Felix. "For once, I can't argue with you and the Cavity Queen, Wreck-It. Greenhorn has got a lot more to learn about life than just wrecking things."

"Like what?" Everyone looked to Conan, the golden eyes behind his new, red-framed glasses (handpicked by Felix) full of questions. The construction man fixed a tender smile on the boy as he walked up to him and took one of his larger hands in his own smaller ones.

"You'll find out along the way. And we'll help you," he nodded his head to his brother, his wife, and his sort-of-niece, "all of us."

Conan looked each and every member of the Core Four in the eyes. Calhoun had her arms crossed over her chest, her face stern but determined. Felix, with his hands now behind his back, kept his optimist smile, his outlook something Conan's programming refused to dismiss. Vanellope and Ralph...actually, the smaller wrecker could only decipher from their blank expressions that they were studying him. Their looks were starting to make him uncomfortable.

Luckily, Felix broke the duo's concentration when he asked them, "Brother, Vanellope, will you two be alright with that?"

Ralph shook his head and cleared his throat. "Course, I don't mind."

Vanellope shrugged her shoulders as she lounged against Ralph's neck. "Do we have a choice? By the way...I got a question of my own to ask."

Felix tilted his head, his interest aroused. "And what's that?"

The girl's head and arms drooped the same time her mouth did. "Can we still go to Tapper's? I'm starving!"

* * *

"What's with the notebook?"

Looking up from his notes at hearing Ralph's question, Conan noticed in confusion the odd looks he was getting from the Core Four, as well as from other people in the restaurant, including Tapper himself. _'Isn't it obvious?'_

"As part of my job, I need to record my observations," the boy stoically responded, making sure to add a little iciness to his answer since he was talking to Ralph. "These require measurements and descriptions accurate to the very last detail. Therefore, I cannot afford to leave room for mistakes."

Everybody stared at him as if he were a trigonometry question.

"Kid, this is lunch, not the mid-term exam," Ralph jokingly snorted as he reached across the table and prodded the notebook down with one finger so he could look Conan in the eye, but the boy scowled at him and pulled the notebook away from under said finger. The larger wrecker, putting his hands up in surrender, showed no signs of anger. "Alright, fine, if you're gonna be that way with your food then _I'll _eat it."

That statement was all the reason Conan, wide-eyed and panicked for reasons he could not explain, needed to shield his burger like a sacred treasure with his arms. Ralph raised an eyebrow at his actions, amused but not surprised.

"Then stop analyzing it like it's a school project and start treating it the way food's supposed to be treated," he ordered firmly but not unkindly as he returned his attention to his own burger, "Ya can't enjoy life if ya see it as nothing but one big experiment."

Conan stared at Ralph in a dumbstruck stupor. He'd expected a reprimand for sure, but not one so...thoughtful. _'Is this man trying to trick me? Is this part of his plan to make me abandon my original function?'_

It couldn't be if everyone around the wreckers was doing the same thing as Ralph. Unless they were all in on an extremely convoluted ruse, which Conan highly doubted, even with his advanced reasoning. No matter how hard he tried to decipher the statement in his head, the boy wondered whether...

No...

He couldn't be...

He can't be...

He wasn't...

Was he?

Was Ralph being...truthful?

But how was that possible? Ralph was his intended father. Fathers lie. Lies were a part of their basic programming...right?

So why did his sentence keep defying Conan's preconceptions so easily?

_Ya can't enjoy life if ya see it as nothing but one big experiment._

_..._

Conan looked down at his burger then to Ralph as his troubled thoughts continued to storm. He felt beyond confounded and speechless.

So caught up in his indecision, he didn't notice Vanellope watching him from diagonally across the table. She'd seen people confused before but nothing like the confusion Brainiac (her new name for him on account of the notebook shtick) seemed to be going through. The guy didn't just look unsure; he looked purely and utterly lost, like a little kid who couldn't find a way out of the woods.

Vanellope perked a little when Conan finally noticed her watching him out of his peripherals. The two ebony-haired kids shared a look for a few seconds, their stare-off going unnoticed by the adults, before a light bulb suddenly sparked in Vanellope's brain. With a secretive smile and a silent nod of her head as her way of telling Brainiac to watch, Vanellope bit a huge chunk out of her burger as a demonstration. Conan blinked at her before turning his sights down to his own food. Mimicking the way the girl held her burger, he bit into his own and started to chew slowly...

Only for his mouth to tremble with a _plethora_ of sensations! Immediately, his mind picked and matched them with words he'd have never dreamed of: salty, meaty, greasy, cheesy, juicy... It wasn't long before Conan started making mumbling sounds. Mouth full, he gazed wide-eyed at the burger with amazement!

This time, the grown-ups noticed. Calhoun smirked at the kid's expression. "Ah, ya see, Greenhorn? That's a lot better than making homework outta it, isn't it?"

Conan couldn't quite understand what the sergeant meant by that, but he did understand one thing: this stuff was good! _Really_ good!

* * *

**Ralph wasn't saying that Conan shouldn't try new things when he mentioned "treating life like an experiment." He meant that the kid shouldn't view life as an experiment and only an experiment—like what mad scientist characters like Frankenstein or Professor Hojo might have done.**


	5. Chapter 4

**I do not own Wreck-It Ralph; only the characters and elements I imagined for this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Realize Me**

_"Just take a look through my eyes...You'll be amazed what you'll find..."—_Look Through My Eyes_ by Phil Collins_

* * *

"I can't believe that kid just ate his way through ten burgers...max-sized."

"Well, the two of you _are_ supposed to be related, Wreck-It," Calhoun responded with a smirk as the group walked out of the game entrance of _Tappers._

"Uh, yeah, thanks for the reminder, General Genealogy."

"Just doing her _duty_ as usual, Diaper Baby," Vanellope quipped with her usual smart-aleck grin from Ralph's shoulder.

Conan paid no heed to the playful argument since he was too busy with licking his fingers clean of the remaining taste of restaurant food. What an experience that was! He would certainly count the days until he came back to Tapper's for more.

Speaking of days, Vanellope perked up on Ralph's shoulder at her recollection of something important. "Oh, by the way, Stinkbrain, you, Hammer-time, and the Sarge promised to show up for tomorrow's Random Roster Race."

"Oh, don't worry, President Fart-feathers, we'll be there to see ya cream everybody." Ralph froze in mid-step, however, when a sudden detail came to him. "Wait a minute. What about Conan?"

He, Vanellope, Calhoun, and Felix all looked at the smaller wrecker, who raised an eyebrow in concern at the way they were staring at him. Conan even looked back to be sure they weren't just staring at someone behind him.

_'I guess it'll have to be me,'_ Felix decided without qualm as he approached the child character. "Um, Conan...I know we haven't known each other long, but..."

The addressed narrowed his eyes a little out of wariness. "But..."

"But...Tammy, Ralph, Vanellope, and I have this sort of tradition we've had since last year. Every now and then, the four of us take these trips into other ga—I mean places." He doubted Conan would already be able to understand the concept of electronic entertainment. "One example is when we go into Sugar Rush—that's Vanellope's home, by the way—to watch her race."

_'Race...'_ Conan mentally repeated that word with curiosity. His mind, with its search engine capacities, gave him definitions but he truly wanted to know the _real _meaning of the word. "What's a race?"

"It's just one of the most awesomest things ever! Just wait 'til ya see the tracks! They got everything—loop-de-loops, 360-degree turns, zigzags..." When Conan's brows furrowed even more, the raven-haired girl stopped her excited rambling and rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Geez Louise, Brainiac, seriously, somebody's gotta teach ya how ta live!"

_'I'm gonna have to side with the kid on this one.'_ Personally, Ralph worried a little about Conan's lack of emotion. True, he'd shown fear and excitement so far (at least as far as Ralph and the others knew), but the larger wrecker had noticed since leaving Tapper's that the boy was keeping a tight lid on his emotions.

"Anyway," Felix finally piped up in an attempt to change the subject, "It's getting late, so we all best be headin' back home"—he gave a conciliatory nod to Ralph—"we'll need to find our guest here a room he can stay in for the time being."

For the space of a second, Ralph appeared as if he was going to protest against his protagonist's idea, but thought better of it for a few seconds and begrudgingly nodded back, pretending to act like his usual grumpy self.

"Whatever."

Conan, like Vanellope, didn't miss the trace of sadness in the man's eyes.

* * *

And that same sadness kept Conan up all night as he lay back in his new spacious, fluffy bed.

He shifted his head from side to side slowly to take in all of the details. Like the many of the rooms in the Niceland apartment, this one featured blue walls and ceilings and a floor consisting of dark oak boards. Felix lent him this living space after a long, intense discussion with the Nicelanders, Ralph (somewhat against his better judgment) throwing in his side of the story when doing so became necessary.

Almost all of the Nicelanders, from what Conan could see from behind the entrance leading from the lobby and into the main hallway, looked downright nonplussed. The only exception turned out to be Gene, the martini lover's face twitching with ill-suppressed rage. Needless to say, the robot-turned-child made a note to avoid that man in the future; stability evidently wasn't a part of Gene's programming.

Conan swore, though, that Ralph and that lady in purple (Mary, he thinks her name was) spotted him out of their peripherals...and yet neither adult made mention of his presence for the rest of the discussion. Once again, Wreck-It Ralph defied his younger counterpart's suspicions.

Conan sort of wished he hadn't—the same case with Mary.

Despite his near-silence and cold demeanor towards Ralph, the black-haired wrecker had a timid streak. Not only that but, like the first Nano, he was also the type of person who thought a lot about others and what he could do to help. In all honesty, the idea of so many people showing concern for him (if that was what he'd been seeing on most of the Nicelanders' faces) unnerved him greatly.

_'I can care for myself. I'll only be a burden to others if they do that for me.' _

He sat up in his bed, pulling the covers off him while taking his glasses from the top of the nearby bedpost and putting them back on, and shifted his gaze to the balcony that lay beyond the closed set of wall-length glass-paned doors. Through the glass, one could see the stars that were so familiar to the inhabitants of this game and so unreal to those who had never seen pixels create such scenes before.

The young wrecker hopped off his bed, but briefly cringed when his landing on the floor caused an audible squeak. Despite being much smaller than Ralph, Conan knew that, thanks to his big-boned build, he had his own potential to, ahem, wreck stuff. When the floor didn't give out from under him, which he wouldn't have to worry him too much since his room was on the second-floor (the first floor consisted mostly of the main lobby and communal kitchen), Conan heaved a light sigh of relief and relaxed.

No unintended property damage—he'll have to make sure the situation stays that way.

His yellow eyes on the balcony once again, Conan continued his way to the entrance and pushed the doors open, his senses taken instantly by the chilly air that blew in. The child shivered a little and rubbed his large hands over each other and then over his arms to warm up. As he did, he stepped out into the balcony and tilted his head upward to observe the nighttime sky.

Very little of the sky had been visible when Felix and Ralph, with Conan in tow, came down the trail that led to the apartment, the lights from the rooms, the light posts, and the nearby town of East Niceland overwhelming the stars with their artificial brightness.

But now with practically all of _Fix-It Felix Jr. _in pitch blackness, the pixelated heavens had no manmade competitors to contend with, so their shine went unrivaled and as a result sparkled across the top of the contained world.

_'I wonder if this is what the word _'pretty'_ looks like.'_

"Some view, isn't it?"

Conan jumped a little and swung around at the voice.

It came from Vanellope, who was dressed in a nightgown the same minty green hue as her sweatshirt. Her face held an unusual degree of peace as the girl crossed her arms and leaned them on the white, square railing, her unbound, ebony hair flowing down her shoulders like a waterfall over rocks.

"I thought you were in Sugar Rush."

"Oh that," the racer responded with a blasé tone, waving her hand in a dismissing manner, "I only came in for a glass of water. Sometimes I like ta come over to this game so I can bunk with Stinkbrain over in his shack, but he suggested I sleep in here in case I needed something. As usual, I turned the other cheek."

Conan blinked in thought before he answered. "You mean you disobeyed him."

Even though she heard no mock or disapproval in the larger child's tone, Vanellope still eyed him with a touch of annoyance. "Hey, hey, I said Ralph _suggested_. I never said he outright _ordered _me."

Her glare softened when Conan looked away in shame. She rolled her hazel eyes and sighed. "Okay, look, I get you don't like Ralphie. What I wanna know is why."

Her companion shifted his view to her with an ascended eyebrow. "Why what...?"

"Why are you so afraid of him? I mean I'd understand if it was because of his temper or just how he looks, which quite frankly, I think is more of a reason to laugh than get scared"—she smirked when Conan involuntarily giggled—"but I get the feeling the reason _you_ do it runs a whole lot deeper than it just being about Ralph."

Conan gawked at the girl's insight, but then shook his head to clear his mind for his next decision.

Should she know? There was no guarantee that she'd understand. On the other hand, there was just as much guarantee that she _wouldn't _understand. Conan gripped his head with one hand in frustration. Being logical could be such a headache sometimes.

After a few more moments of irresolution, Conan released the grip on his noggin and let his hands dangle in defeat. "Alright...I'll tell you. But...I can't promise you that what you'll hear won't sound like something out of a twisted fairy-tale. Plus, I don't exactly trust you yet, so I'm only going to give you the bare basics. And since I intend to tell you a little about my backstory, the least you could do is explain to me why you were so defensive of Ralph earlier."

Both kids looked over to the brick-laden dump where a familiar, prism-shaped shack of the same material stood, the familiar, rumbling snores of the shelter's owner noticeable even from the distance Vanellope and Conan heard it.

Vanellope returned her sight to her companion. "Alright, sounds fair. But let's make it quick, Einstein. I have whole lotta winks to catch up on."

Conan merely nodded, unsure whether she meant that statement as a joke. _'Either way, it's obvious that she's serious about hearing my story.' _"Okay...what you need to know first about me is this..."

* * *

"That's all I can remember about my predecessor's life. Until my memory starts restoring itself, I'm just as in the dark about how I got to be this way," he self-consciously put a hand to his chest to indicate his self, "as everyone else is."

Vanellope said nothing.

Conan furrowed his burrow in concern. He'd been telling the truth that he didn't fully trust the racer yet, but that fact didn't mean that she wasn't growing on him. Ever since their run-in earlier today and especially after way the dirty-haired girl confronted him on Ralph's behalf, Conan found her spunk and vivacity admirable. For that reason, seeing her be so quiet perturbed the boy.

He almost asked her what was wrong, but Vanellope caught his stare and quickly restored her sassy façade, even though it came across Conan more as cool and unshaken. This racer wasn't a good actor.

_'Although I must say; she's stronger than she looks.'_ He knew he witnessed genuine horror in her eyes when he mentioned how his predecessor died—both times, in fact—but despite the girl's poor attempts to hide her reaction, her reaction in itself lacked the intensity Conan expected. That fact made him wonder: had she heard of (perhaps even seen) such fates before?

_'I'm not too sure I want to know.'_

He jolted out of his dark thoughts when he felt a tiny fist bump him in the arm. Conan shot his view to Vanellope, who smirked at him with an upped eyebrow before switching to a more understanding and sorrowful expression.

"After hearing a story like that, I guess I can't blame ya then for getting a little nervous around Ralph. But believe it or not, the big lug knows more about being mistreated because of what you are than probably anyone else; ditto for me."

_'Ditto...?'_ Conan mused with interest. His arms still leaning on the railing as well, he shifted his weight and leaned his heads towards Vanellope. "What do you mean?"

Vanellope opened her mouth to answer, except a huge yawn escaped her instead, her hand hastily covering it. "Sorry, Brainiac, but I really meant what I said about catching up on the winks. You're still new here, so at least _you'll _be able to get away with sleeping in late a little, even though you might have to do that in Ralph's shack while he and Felix are working. Sure hope you're a heavy sleeper, by the way. Little ol' me, on the other hand, has ta get up early to not only get back home on time, but get my kart ready, too. And that's not even including attending to my subjects"—she put a hand to her forehead and feigned a sigh of resignation—"Such is the fate of a president."

Conan wrinkled his forehead in wonder. Weren't presidents-? He cast that thought away and shook his head with a half-smile.

_'Oh forget it. If it's important, I'll figure out what it is eventually.'_

* * *

**Sorry, but I'm not going to let you guys and gals in on Cony's backstory yet. I'll leave that as a surprise, although some of you might have already guessed a few details.**


	6. Chapter 5

**I do not own Wreck-It Ralph; only the characters and elements I imagined for this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Figuring Things Out**

_"Takes yer time, everything its own time."—Tom Oakley, Goodnight, Mr. Tom_

* * *

_Black._

_All he could see around him was black, just like at his "birthplace". The only difference: there were no neon lights to help him see. He could barely even see his own body, the only object his eyes could make out. Alone and afraid, he called out, his voice echoing unsettlingly in the ending dark._

_"Hello? Where am I?"_

_No answer..._

_At least...not the kind he expected._

_A pinprick of light appeared in his line of sight all of a sudden. _

_Then slowly but surely, it increased in size, brightening all the while...until its shine—and heat—became too much for him._

_Sweat poured out of his body in droves, utterly drenching his clothes. Everything felt like the inside of an oven...and only became hotter and hotter. Breathing became difficult enough by itself. All of this heat...he felt so weak...and the brightness didn't stop either..._

_He feebly shielded his eyes in panic as he dropped to his hands and knees in exhaustion. _

_What...What was happening?!_

_A voice rang in his ears._

_"Conan?"_

* * *

"Conan!"

Startled out of his nightmare by the call, he opened his eyes to the smeared forms of two men standing side by side to the right of his bed. Conan snatched his glasses off the bedpost and perched them on his face. He brightened once he recognized one of them.

"Good morning, Mr. Felix...," he practically forgot the self-vow he made yesterday to restrain his emotions. Being around the optimistic handyman had that effect on him. However, once he realized the other person, he paused in awkwardness and worry, bringing the blanket up to his chin, "uh..."

It was Gene.

And he didn't look any friendlier than he had last night, even though Conan's observation revealed no signs of anger. The diminutive mayor had his stubby arms crossed over his chest, his face set in a deceptively calm state. "Just Gene will do fine. So this is our newest addition to the game?"

Felix, sharing an unsure look with Conan, gave the mayor a bright grin, "Yes, that's right! Since this little fella needs a place ta' stay and might be with us for a while, Tammy and I figured with Ralph and Vanny that once the workday is over we give him a tour before heading to Sugar Rush."

Gene hummed in thought, strongly attentive, but Conan couldn't help but feel the man had something else on his mind. "Well, you know best, Felix. I'll leave him to you then. Welcome to Niceland, young man."

"Um...thank you sir." If only Gene would stop staring him like that, Conan wouldn't have sounded so nervous. It was that same, piercing look Ralph and Vanellope gave him yesterday...and he was quickly starting to dislike it.

Fortunately, Gene merely gave a curt nod before hopping around (a motion Conan found amusing for some reason) and walking out the door. Felix let his smile wane a little and heaved a light sigh, turning to Conan as he did. "Sorry 'bout Gene there. He's always been a little hard on newcomers. Don' worry, he'll warm up ta' ya, soon enough."

_'I beg to differ.'_ Conan eyed the door Gene just went out of. He figured that guy would be someone to avoid. The boy shook his head and willed a shy smile at Felix, who had his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth on his heels in an attempt to be casual. "So...what sort of duties will I have to do?"

He remembered what Vanellope said about "sleeping in late a little," but he suspected there'd be more to fitting into this game than just hanging around here more often.

"Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Felix chuckled good-naturedly, "I'm sure we'll find something for you, but for now you just keep your distance from your balcony. One of the Nicelanders will need ta' borrow it for a while, but don' you worry nothin'. You can still keep your room; you'll just need to keep a little quiet. There are the back rooms and the kitchen, but I'd recommend that you stick around here for now. You're still new here, after all."

Conan furrowed his eyebrows as he digested all of this information. What on earth did these people, besides Felix and Ralph (whose occupations were evident at first sight), do for a living that involved standing around on a balcony? He wasn't annoyed at the news the construction man gave him, per say; in fact he didn't mind lounging around on his first day. He simply wished to understand the "work" they did here better.

There was just one little detail he wanted to know.

"Felix?"

"Yes, Conan?"

"Do you have any books, by any chance?"

* * *

Luckily, Felix had a fairly sizable collection of books—no pun intended, despite the fact that all of the handyman's books were suitable for someone with small hands. On the bright side, Conan had only _somewhat_ larger hands than Felix and the Nicelanders; plus, reading didn't necessarily require that one has to hold the book, so the younger wrecker opted to lying on his stomach, using his thick index fingers to flip the pages.

_Crime and Punishment_, _Catch-22_ (which the kid was pretty sure Calhoun picked out), _The Great Gatsby_, _Pride and Prejudice_, _Huckleberry Finn_, _The Wizard of _Oz, _Anne of Green Gables _(his favorite)...

For every book he finished, he grabbed for another. Before long, he managed to read them all in the space of an afternoon. And even then, he went back through the reads he particularly enjoyed and read them at a slower pace as a way to savor them more—an all-in-all nice way to spend the afternoon in Conan's opinion.

Of course, having fresh earplugs (which he found in Felix's drawer) to block out the rumbling and screaming out there helped, too...especially when a certain demolisher out there screamed out his purpose for the whole world to hear (and why, Conan preferred he'd rather not know).

Only the incessant shaking ended up proving difficult to stand. In more ways than one—standing literally got tough when Ralph punched the top of the building, so Conan kept to the floor to prevent himself from falling flat on the his face.

_'Another reason to not like Ralph,'_ the younger wrecker griped in his head.

He still couldn't say he honestly hated him, but all that pounding around (even if it _was_ a part of the man's job) seemed like a good enough excuse to not like him. Only problem keeping him from relying on it was Vanellope's words from last night: _"But believe it or not, the big lug knows more about being mistreated because of what you are than probably anyone else."_

Conan frowned in silent aggravation, the book in front of him forgotten. _'I understand what she was saying; I just find it hard to believe.'_

Or maybe he just didn't want to believe it. A rather illogical course of action...especially after he saw the way not only Vanellope but also Calhoun and Felix interacted around Ralph. Conan sat still, pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and sighed, his face softening in pensiveness.

_'Ralph doesn't match the personality of the man in my original's memories...maybe—'_

**KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!**

So loud that it managed to seep through the earplugs, the noise jolted Conan out of his reverie, making him glitch unintentionally as a result.

The door opened to reveal Sergeant Calhoun, still decked out in her ebony-and-crimson armor. Smirking at the deer-in-the-headlights look the boy had, the blonde shook her head at his flightiness. "Relax, Greenhorn, it's just me."

Oh, well then...this was embarrassing. Conan blushed and cleared his throat to regain his composure before removing his earplugs. At least it wasn't Vanellope who barged in and spooked him; Conan talked with her enough yesterday to know how much fun she would've gotten at his expense.

"Is everyone done already?"

The Sarge shrugged her shoulders. "Pretty much, the squirt and I finished work about ten minutes ago, but this place got put into some overtime so we hung back at the trolley for a bit."

Conan nodded. A question hung in the back of his mind. "Sarge?"

"What's up?"

"If you found about more about what I was...or _who_ I was...would you..."

"Save it, Greenhorn." The boy hesitated in confusion at the woman's sharp tone. "We know."

Conan froze in fear.

Vanellope told them. Either that or they found by themselves. Did Calhoun come here then to—?

"The kid spared us the details, as far as I know, but she gave us enough to know why you act the way you are." Conan tensed further when the armored woman walked up to him, thinking she intended to slap him for keeping a secret from her and the others, so he closed his eyes and braced for punishment.

It never came.

A gloved hand patted his head instead, urging Conan to reopen his eyes. "No one's gonna hurt ya, Greenhorn. Not if we can help it."

He balked at the serene expression on the sergeant's face, normally set in a smirk or grim look of determination. Quickly enough, though, the Sarge switched back to her slightly more lighthearted self and stood up, offering a hand to the boy.

"Now come on, soldier. You wanna get this cockamamie tour done in time so you get your first chance to see Sugar Rush, don'cha?"

_'Sugar Rush...'_ Conan mused in remembrance. Yes, "Vanellope's home" as Felix called it..._'I __**am**__ rather curious to see what it looks like.'_

"Okay," Conan acquiesced, taking the woman's hand and standing up, the book underneath his other arm.

The Sarge eyed the piece of literature. "You better not take that along with ya, Greenhorn. Trust me, you are _not_ gonna need it where _we're_ going."

Though he furrowed his eyebrows at the suggestion, Conan followed her advice anyway and put the book back on the shelf where he found it, and put the earplugs in his pants' pockets for just in case. Once he finished, Calhoun gestured a hand as a means of saying "Follow Me" and the unlikely pair walked out of the room, the older blonde closing it behind them after they entered the hallway.

Conan halted in his tracks...right in front of Vanellope.

He had a good (and not-so-good) feeling that this girl's smirk meant exactly what he thought it meant.

"Dude, you are about as skittish as Candlehead. Seriously, Bug-Eyes, you gotta learn how ta _chill_ more." She rolled her eyes when Conan raised a finger and stopped him before he could ask. "And yes, by 'chill', I mean relax."

Conan frowned at the advice, feeling a little offended by it. _'I know how to relax...right?'_

Okay, so he'd gotten a little excited yesterday when he ran out of Fix-It Felix, Jr. Being recently reborn with a body of flesh could do that to a person. And besides, was it _Conan's _fault if he was more...sensitive to the world around him than others were?

_'Don't let your feelings show,'_ a deep voice suddenly warned in his head. Conan didn't jump at its abruptness; in fact, he merely nodded to Vanellope without a word and waited for either her or Calhoun to push him along.

However, he couldn't help but still wonder about his...inner voice. He looked down in thought. Was it an effect of the nanobots left-over from his predecessor?

Even so, Conan wouldn't deny the good advice that voice gave him. He would have given these women red flags if he'd acted more outwardly. Just because the Sarge said they wouldn't let _others_ hurt him, that didn't mean they wouldn't take proper action against him _themselves_ if circumstances demanded they do so.

"Yo, Brainiac!"

Conan yelped.

Vanellope and Calhoun were already a couple of doors ahead of him, the former looking very impatient while the latter, her hands akimbo, had a more attentive and deeper look...like she was noticing something about him for the first time.

The Sarge's face didn't look that way a few seconds ago. Conan turned to a nearby window out of a whim and instantly backed up at the intense stare his reflection had. No wonder...

"R-Right, I'm sorry, Ms. Calhoun...Vanellope...," he murmured with regret. This time, they were _sure _to take proper action against him. Now that they _all_ knew his true identity, they were going to treat him differently...

Treat him like a monster.

With a startled gasp, he suddenly felt two tiny hands push into his back, their surprising strength forcing him to move forward. A certain voice behind him chirped more with amusement than anger.

"Yeah, yeah nuff already, Apology-Pants. We're burning daylight!"

* * *

The tour itself in general was uneventful.

Well, at least until the end...

The five of them (Conan, Calhoun, Vanellope, Ralph and Felix) had just finished the tour and were already heading towards the trolley when Ralph slipped on a discarded banana peel (of all things) and fell flat on his face, arms and legs splayed out eagle-style.

His mishap earned him a good round of snorts and laughter from Vanellope and Calhoun. Even Felix nervously chuckled a little, even though he tried to contain his amusement. Fake-coughing into his hand, Felix approached the fallen wrecker, who already got back up and was dusting himself off.

"Are you okay, brother?"

"Yeah, I'm alright," Ralph gruffly responded in an annoyed tone, "Seriously, who the heck leaves a banana peel in the middle of the trail?"

Everyone stopped what they were doing once they finally noticed a fifth sound: some cross between hyperventilation and a giggle. Vanellope was the one to identify the source once she caught the way Conan was blocking his mouth with both hands, his cheeks bulging every so often as if he were about to let out air like a balloon.

_'They're looking at you.'_

Conan blushed.

His inner voice was right...again.

All of the Core Four were giving him looks of either shock or awe. Feeling his shy streak coming back, the boy twiddled with his thick fingers, prepared for but still nervous about their negative reactions—Ralph proved him wrong.

With a grin so wide that it showed the gap in his upper front teeth and running a hand through his spiky hair, the older wrecker broke the silence with a hearty chuckle. "Tch, the first time I make ya laugh and it's because of the oldest joke in the book..."—he shrugged his shoulders—"but hey, whatever gets ya to stop acting like a rock."

Felix nodded with relieved smile.

He had to side with his brother; he remembered how stoic Conan acted last night—and not just towards Ralph but towards him and the other Nicelanders, as well. It was extremely disconcerting, to say the least. He could recall quite well some of the complaints the tenants, including Gene, gave him about the child's attitude.

_'He doesn't have to act like a robot...even if he technically __**is**__ one,'_ the handyman thought with concern.

Yes, Felix was just as aware of what Conan was as Vanellope...except he never found out through the racer alone.

A few minutes after the last player left today, Ralph (with Van's occasional two cents) gave him and Calhoun a brief synopsis of Conan's backstory, which the antagonist had overheard last night while combing the apartment for the racer out of worry. Sleep hadn't come easily to him that night. Poor Ralph had had another nightmare about Turbo in his Cy-bug form—only this time Vanellope had been in it...and Conan, too, for some reason.

Perhaps eavesdropping to hear the two kids talk out on the balcony meant to serve the wrecker as his peace of mind.

Regardless, Felix knew that his earlier suspicions had been right on the dot: Conan needed to be handled delicately. Well, as close to delicate as a group like the Core Four can get...

Felix's worries were assuaged when Vanellope walked up to Conan and gave the lug a playful punch in the arm. "Yeah, Bug-Eyes, ya look _way_ better when ya smile!"

For a moment, Conan stared at Vanellope in slight surprise, as if _she_ were one who had laughed for the second time in her life. Felix might have been imagining things, but he swore he caught the corners of Conan's mouth turn upward a little.

"Alright, you two, nuff with the kitten-whispers," Calhoun jokingly interrupted with a chuckle, "don't you have a race to be in, by the way, Cavity Queen?"

"HOLY FUDGE-BALLS, YOU'RE RIGHT! BRAINIAC, C'MON! WE GOTTA BOOK IT!" Now in full-speed panic mode, not even bothering to correct the sergeant on the "queen" part, Vanellope grabbed Conan's right hand and glitch-dashed for the exit where her kart idled.

Her tagalong did _not _enjoy her idea of "booking it" at all.

"Huh?! Wait, Vanello—PEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

* * *

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

**_SCREEEECH!_**

And with a final, full-hard stop on the top of Rainbow Bridge, the ride was over.

Eyes wide (with the left one twitching), glasses askew, mouth agape, and hands gripping the sides of the sloppily constructed kart so tightly that his knuckles turned white, Conan stared unblinkingly into space, not bothering to take in his new surroundings, too busy recovering from his very first time on a racecar.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't think straight.

Even his inner voice remained silent, probably just as utterly speechless as him.

Before long, Calhoun and Felix came out of the Sugar Rush entrance on the hoverboard. Ralph brought up the rear not long after, huffing and puffing a little due to the distance he'd been forced to run since the board couldn't accommodate his bulk. He narrowed his eyes and clucked his tongue in annoyance once he saw Conan's shell-shocked state.

"Way to go, Fart-feathers"—he threw his hands in the air in mock congrats—"You sent the kid into shock."

With a worried frown, Felix ran up to the boy's side and put two fingers on his neck. The pulse-rate was pretty quick—no surprise. _'My land, Ralph's right! Vanellope was totally reckless to do something like—'_

Everyone except Vanellope, who merely raised an eyebrow, jumped when Conan suddenly hopped onto Ralph's chest like a koala bear, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and, with the happiest (and zaniest) grin anyone had seen on him yet, screamed right in Ralph's face:

"THAT...WAS...EXHILARATING!"

Everybody else blinked once...very, very slowly.

Felix, _'On the other hand...'_

Awkward silence..._long _awkward silence...

At least until...

"You were saying, Stinkbrain?"

* * *

**Yep, I think it's safe to say that Conan is definitely going to enjoy his time in Sugar Rush.**


	7. Chapter 6

**I do not own Wreck-It Ralph; only the characters and elements I imagined for this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Sugar Crush! Sugar Crush!**

_"The more I see, the less I know."—_Snow _by Red Hot Chili Peppers_

* * *

"Here we are, Brainiac!"

Getting to the Royal Raceway took no time at all with Vanellope leading the way in her kart, Conan grinning like mad as he sat behind her, Felix and Calhoun flying overhead on the hoverboard, and Ralph bringing up the rear without breaking a sweat, much to Conan's hidden regret. He wouldn't have minded seeing the older man exhaust himself with keeping up.

Conan jumped off the kart as Ralph stood beside him, even though neither of the wreckers bothered to look at each other, and Felix and Calhoun touched down and hopped off the hoverboard. All the while, Vanellope, after dropping off her peer, drove her kart into a spot surrounded by a rather colorful array of other karts, each of which were attended by children who not only all the same height as Vanellope but also matched the color schemes of their respective cars.

"Phew! Sorry 'bout the itty-bitty delay there, ladies and gobstoppers," Vanellope joked once she got to her podium, pretending to wipe off some sweat off her forehead, "but yours truly and her faithful crew were a little tied up handling the newest addition to our little group!"

Murmurs of interest rippled through both the crowds of sentient candies and the racers. Who was their president talking about?

"Now, as I'm sure some of you folks know," the young president continued, all attention returning to her quickly, "that this arcade got first-row seats to the weirdest chase train ever."

Okay, now she _really _got their attention. In fact, Conan noticed that some of the racers chuckled a bit at the memory of yesterday's spectacle. He struggled to understand what they found so funny about it, aside from maybe Ralph falling over. That _had_ been kind of humorous in Conan's opinion.

_'Wait, no, keep focus!'_ the voice in his head barked at him. Conan shook his head and nodded, opting instead to follow orders by keeping his eyes solely on Vanellope. Easier said than done as he was about to find out...

"Citizens of Sugar Rush, allow me to introduce a poindexter who needs no fancy, schmancy entrance to leave an impact." Conan flinched at the subtle reference to his running into her; he knew Vanellope meant no real malice, but still... "Ladies and gentlemen, let's show a little love for the newcomer! Sour Bill, Jumbotron, if ya please!"

"Yes, ma'am," a dour, green sour-ball dully responded before pressing the button to a remote he'd had in his hand.

A flash of static caught Conan's eye and so he looked up to catch sight of something that sent him reeling and blushing in shock: a floating monitor so massive he couldn't believe he'd missed it until now. And when the monitor displayed his face for all to see, along with his name in bright red lights just below...well, let's just say he couldn't help feeling a little...naked.

_'If she's trying to get back at me for colliding with her yesterday, then I'd just like to say that it's working.'_

And having his face plastered up there wasn't even the cherry on the embarrassment sundae. When he looked down, he noticed that all the racers were looking at him, having finally noticed the larger boy and thus sporting widened eyes that flashed with a range of emotions Conan couldn't identify yet. Not that he bothered to identify at all—those stares were making him deathly nervous, especially those of the pink-clad girl who eyed him with slight ice and a green-haired girl beside her whose stare, though flighty, was friendlier but no less curious.

Actually, something the way that green-haired girl was staring at him made Conan feel like something was squirming inside him. He faintly noticed his inner voice demanding him to look away, look away, look away from her now, but the girl had already captivated him somehow. _'I'm not too sure what this feeling is and why I'm having it, but it's sort of...pleasant.'_

He jolted a little when the girl waved at him. With some hesitation and a shaky grin, Conan managed a small wave back.

Ralph noticed and chuckled, setting his arms akimbo as he did. "Geez, you're barely here for a day and you're already picking ladies up. Slow down a little, kid!"

Conan shot him a glare that did nothing to wipe the smug grin off of Ralph's face. What on earth did he mean anyway? Picking ladies up? How does that even work?

Fortunately, Vanellope's continued announcement cut their conversation short, as well took the attention of the girls and the others racers off of Conan. "Now that we got the mushy pleasantries outta the way, let's get this Random Roster Race started!"

That exclamation earned a round of boisterous applause from not just the racers and the onlookers. Ralph, Calhoun, and even Felix, after the three of them and Conan quickly and easily found a spot up in one of the stands, cheered like there was no tomorrow, Ralph especially.

The older wrecker cut off his enthusiasm, though, when he noticed Conan, who sat next to him, flinching at the loud noises coming from not only him and his friends but everyone and everything else. In sympathy, he nudged the kid with a finger, getting his attention instantly. "Ya know kid, if you don't wanna watch the race, I can ask Sarge or Felix to take ya home if ya like."

In the space of five seconds, Conan eyed Ralph with a myriad of emotions: surprise, confusion, doubt, anger, distrust, fear, and then...empathy. _'He's...he's being honest again. How does he keep doing that?'_

Conan fervently shook his head once he noticed that Ralph still awaited an answer from him. "I...I'll be fine. I'm just not adjusted to the associated volumes of racing; that's all."

Ralph didn't look convinced but to his smaller self's relief, he dropped the subject. "Have it your way, kid. But if the sounds get much for you, just plug your ears and watch the Jumbotron up there."

Staring at him in surprise due to the helpful advice, Conan numbly nodded and returned his attention to the racers, who were already in their karts, waiting for the floating traffic light held in the hands of the two floating marshmallows to go green.

_GO!_

And like bolts of lightning, the karts were off.

Even though he followed Ralph's advice, Conan found his interest not at all weakened by the dampened sounds of the crowds around him and the karts on the Jumbotron. In fact, if anything, his curiosity only amplified at the manner in which the racers each tried to one-up each other through the use of special items set along the track. Apparently, those items could be used for all sorts of interesting effects. One for example, called Cherry Bomb, consisted of an explosive that looked deceptively like its namesake—and blew up like it, too.

Not just the items, but the track itself, too, left Conan impressed and sometimes even a little intimidated as well. Gumball Gorge probably took the cake for the intimidation part thanks to the giant spheres of color that bowled over any racer unfortunate enough to be in its path. Luckily for Vanellope, her skills allowed her to escape that section completely unscathed. Boy, did Ralph cheer hard!

"Ha, ha, that's my girl!"

_'I have to admit: she sure knows what she's doing when she's out there.'_ Especially when she used the same binary teleportation ability she'd used on him just the other day—she told on the way here that it was called glitching, something that he could reportedly due as well on account of the difference of color between his and Vanny's glitching code.

"Ralph," Conan pulled on his elder's pants to get his attention, "what's glitching and how come Vanellope and I are capable of doing it?"

"Well...it's a long story as to how she got it in the first place. But basically the kid can, uh...," Ralph screwed his face up in thought as he tried to come up with a proper way to explain. "Put simply, she can make her code take her from place to place...I guess you can, too, but I'm just throwing guesses out there."

Conan tilted his head at the simple explanation. "That's it?"

Ralph merely shrugged with an honest half-smile. "That's it. Sorry I can't jazz it up with technical jargon like the Sarge can if that's what you were expecting."

The younger wrecker merely huffed with annoyance at Ralph's sarcasm, crossing his arms and keeping his attention back on the race. Ralph swore, though, out of the corner of his eye that he caught a tiny grin on the boy's face.

* * *

_1__st__ place: Candlehead!_

_2__nd__ place: Taffyta Muttonfudge!_

_3__rd__ place: Vanellope von Schweetz!_

Standing on top of the tallest stand, the green-haired girl grinned at the announcer's words and the thunderous cheering as if she'd become Queen of the World, and considering the beautiful, gold medal she held in her hands, Conan suspected she had a right to be. Acting on a whim, he waited until the other racers finished congratulating Candlehead on her recent victory before approaching her for the first time.

He didn't notice Vanellope and Ralph toss knowing smirks his way.

"Do my eyes deceive me, Booger-face," Vanny glitched onto Ralph's shoulder, her teasing tone clueing the wrecker very quickly, "or do I spy with my little eyes some sparks?"

Ralph eyed her with a half-serious, half-lighthearted glare. "Hey now, President Homeless Lady, cut the kid a little slack. He's new to this."

_'As if that wasn't obvious...Besides, I'm only trying to help him,'_ Vanellope rolled her eyes. "Whatever ya say, Stinkbrain; just know that there's gonna be a little matchmaking for those two, cuz if I know Candlehead as well as Taffyta does, it's gonna be a century before she gets close to confronting Brainiac about liking him."

Face unreadable, Ralph simply blinked at the little girl. He had no idea whether to view the idea of Vanellope matchmaking as heartwarming...or just downright scary.

* * *

Meanwhile...

"Recommendations on your win, Miss."

Candlehead jumped in surprise once she noticed the larger boy standing behind her. She even went so far as to use her medal as a sort of shield, ineffective as it was. Conan cleared his throat out of likewise nervousness, not really enjoying the slight look of fear he was receiving. Trying to ignore the inexplicable warmness in his cheeks, he crossed his hands behind him and managed a feeble smile.

"I'm...sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." When Candle lowered her medal just a tad, Conan decided to continue. "I only wanted to congratulate you."

"Oh, um, thanks..." Candlehead looked away for a second, Conan mirroring her actions. "Uh, hey...you're Conan, right? I saw you yesterday in Game Central Station yesterday."

_'Oh my...'_ Conan thought in distress, resisting the urge to slap a hand to his forehead. How much longer would he have to deal with people bringing that up?

"Taffyta wasn't too happy that you kidnapped Vanellope," Candle continued. Conan in the meantime caught out of his peripherals the still glaring girl in pink in the distance. Ah right, her. "That whip thing you did was kinda cool, though."

That last statement caught Conan off guard. He shot a look of surprise at Candlehead, the suddenness of the action making her jump back a little. "R-Really...? It was really more on the spur of the moment than anything else; it wasn't _that _impressive."

"I thought it was."

For a moment, nothing else existed.

Only the two of them, Conan and Candlehead, comprised the world.

And it was only each other that the two children saw.

The spell ended when Conan a tiny hand grip his left sleeve. He turned and suddenly noticed Vanellope standing beside him with a strange grin. "Um...I need to get going. I'm sorry we have cut this conversation short, Miss Candlehead."

Candle waved a hand in hearty dismissal. "Oh, no, that's okay. I get it. And just call me Candlehead—or Candy or C-Butt if ya like."

Conan blinked at her in silence as he mentally digested her off-kilter suggestions. "Alright, I'll remember that then, Miss—I mean...Candlehead."

As Candle giggled at his goodbye, her smile something Conan found he enjoyed very much, the young wrecker walked back to the grown-ups with Vanellope. He couldn't help raising an eyebrow, though, at his peer's still present grin.

"What?"

"Oh nothin', Calculator Pants. I take it you kinda like Candlehead, huh?"

_'Like her...?'_ Well, he _did _find her pleasant to talk to—a little strange but still pleasant. "What's your point?"

To that question, Vanellope simply shrugged and patted him on the back. "Eh, just checking; can't have ya makin' enemies when you just got here, am I right?"

_'Enemies...?' _So worried that thought made him, Conan actually stopped walking to mull over the possibility. His mind took him back to Taffyta and the way she stared at him during his conversing with Candlehead.

Vanellope noticed his hesitation. "Oh, come on, Brainiac, relax! Don't ya know a joke when ya hear it?"

_'Ha, ha,' _Conan shot her an unamused look as the racer continued her way without him, despite the fact that she knew he could keep up. "Apparently, you and I need to have a debate over what constitutes humor."

Looking back with a not-so-sheepish smile, the raven-haired president only shrugged, _'Can't blame a girl for trying.'_

* * *

**What? Don't judge me for shipping Candle with Conan. **


End file.
